SPEW
by hot chocolate16
Summary: Malfoy had no idea that joining S.P.E.W. would result in such large doses of sexual tension...
1. Pickles and Banners

Disclaimer: If I was J.K. Rowling, I would not be writing something so mundane as this.

A/N: This completely disregards both the Half Blood Prince and the Deathly Hallows.

* * *

Hermione Granger was really quite a determined person

And this determination, coupled with an overbearing urge to do good in the world, resulted in her pursuing things that otherwise might have been, well, abandoned. She tended to take in things that would have been discarded, unloved and unwanted- Crookshanks, Harry Potter, Victor Krum's library fetishes, Neville Longbottom, Ancient Runes, and the most controversial of them all, house elves. Despite Ron's constant grumblings, her peers indifference, and the ridicule of Ministry of Magic officials, she had still clung on desperately to her S.P.E.W. campaign. And now that the war was over and she didn't have to focus on Voldemort, she could donate much more of her time and energy into the issue. Which was why she was currently sitting at a large booth located in front of a poster that broadcasted the words S.P.E.W. She had been there for almost two hours, and so far had had no success with her campaign. Most people had looked at her, looked at the poster, and fled in the opposite direction. She was not discouraged, however, after all she had only been there for two hours. Many campaigns- such as the Society for the Sympathetic Lycophantics, arranged by Helga Dropwith in 1893- had taken years to take off. Really, she just needed to be more encouraging about the whole thing. If she just smiled some more, was a bit more enthusiastic, people would just zoom towards her like magnets! Hermione smiled at a passing first year Hufflepuff, who promptly screamed and ran straight into a wall.

Oh well. Hufflepuffs didn't know anything anyways.

* * *

Two weeks later, Hermione was feeling a bit less optimistic.

She had been sitting here for the past 14 days, her banner had ripped in one corner, her hair looked like a cat had attacked it because she kept on pulling her hands though it in frustration, and her bum hurt from sitting so DAMN long! WHERE were her loyal followers? Her eager members? The people who were supposed to worship the damned ground she walked on because of her amazingly never ending generosity towards enslaved underrepresented beings? Her speeches and petitions and parties and cakes and champagne and big poofy dresses and knitting clubs and shiny badges and just goddamned money!

She seethed.

And seethed.

And seethed some more.

And then she realized, through the darkness and despair, the one thing that she hated to admit.

She was an absolutely horrible business woman.

The facts hit her fast, piling up onto each other. She had never been able to appeal to other people, had never been capable of portraying her concerns and ideas in ways that made others think. Starting with Ron, her failures in business were numerous- never had anyone been really interested in what she had to say about house elves! Even those that were slightly interested never amounted to anything, they were all talk and no action. She could sit in this damn booth for months, years, on end and nothing about her campaign would ever change. It had to be accepted, she had failed. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Her face fell, skin falling into wrinkles, forehead knotting together and bottom lip trembling. She had failed! Failed! The one thing she never did, never succumbed to, had finally found its way to her. She could see its ghastly green face, grinning in perverse delight as it finally overcame her. She was so distracted by this horrifying thought that she didn't even wonder why her vision of failure was green and fanged.

It cackled.

She sobbed.

It cackled some more.

She buried her face in her hands.

It cackled even more!

She banged her fist into the desk and it hit something sharp and pointy.

"OW!" She yelled in pain. Two second years watching her in interest bolted through the doors in fright.

Now she was seriously pissed off. She had just jammed her hand into a freaking pencil!

The monster of failure decided the time was ripe to cackle yet again. But this time, Hermione was so angry at that stupid green thing that she resolved that she was going to wring its fucking slimy neck if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

Hermione really was quite an intelligent girl. She knew a whole lot of things. And when she put all of these interesting things together, well then, she had a whole lot of interesting conclusions!

She knew that…

Number 1: She was a horrendous businesswoman.

Number 2: She needed S.P.E.W. to become a large scale organization.

Number 3: Because of this, she would have to find someone to assist her in business ideas.

Number 4: Neither Harry nor Ron possessed those insights.

Number 5: The only former and current Gryffindors who possessed those brains were Dumbledore and Fred and George Weasley.

Number 6: The twins were as likely to help her free elves as they were to start selling blast ended screwts, and Dumbledore was… well, Dumbledore simply wouldn't do.

Number 7: Hufflepuffs had about as much business strategy as a loaf of bread.

Number 8: Although Slytherins were the most manipulative and cunning lot of the school, they would also rather eat their head than help muggleborn Granger free house elves.

Conclusion: She must recruit someone from the Ravenclaw house to help her!

And with that, she set off to go spy on their vast masses, using Harry's invisibility cloak and her illustrious Head Girl status to help her.

* * *

One stressful week later, and she was severely disappointed with the Ravenclaws. She had spied in their dormitory for lengthy hours at a time, interrogated them during classes, and observed them playing chess. And only two options- two!- had seemed decent: Ray Pickle and Salvanna Marriett.

She approached Ray first. He listened with a bewildered stare for a couple of seconds, then his eyes grew wide with the realization that she was trying to recruit him into that dreaded S.P.E.W. club! He had heard stories about her savage dictatorship in Gryffindor tower. "Um, Hermione" he said, stumbling backwards, "I, uh, really don't think that I would do well with, uh, your throw up club." And he ran.

Hermione sighed. Oh well, who wanted someone with a last name of Pickle anyways.

Salvanna was harder to corner. Apparently Ray had warned the entire Ravenclaw tower that Hermione was recruiting lab rats for her experimental club about the scientific aspects of vomit. She couldn't find a single Ravenclaw anywhere. It was ridiculous! Drastic measures would really need to be taken. This was more important than her reputation- she would simply have to stalk Salvanna.

It was ridiculously easy- almost too easy. Only one class period later, Salvanna had excused herself to go to the loo. Hermione immediately followed, and once they were a safe distance away…

"Petrificous totalus!" Salvanna slumped to the ground immediately.

Hermione couldn't help herself. She let out a gleeful cackle. Then she levitated the body up to the heads dorms. Once inside, the spell was lifted, and Salvanna immediately began to whimper in fear. Hermione was just about to start the initiation program (which included two slideshows and a basic knitting class) when…

"Granger? What are you doing?"

Oh dear.


	2. Do Dragons Make Eclairs?

Draco Malfoy had just walked into the room.

Hermione mentally screamed at herself. How could she possible have forgotten that he didn't have class either?

"Uh, Granger? Are you torturing someone?" Draco asked in a bemused tone of voice.

Hermione quickly regained her senses. "Go away Malfoy, this doesn't concern you."

Draco blinked. "Well, actually, it does, cause if you kill someone on our premises I'm going to take the blame."

"I'm not going to kill her! I just need her to help me with a few business dealings."

"What is this, the mofia?"

Turning her head, Hermione stared at him incredulously. "…How do you know about the mofia?"

Draco clapped his hands together in glee. "It IS the mofia!"

"I'm not Italian, Malfoy." Stated Hermione, rather dryly.

"Oh."

"If you must know, I just need a bit of help kicking off my S.P.E.W. campaign." Said Hermione, in a valiant attempt at sounding nonchalant.

"Oh god," groaned Malfoy, "Not that barf thing again."

Hermione gasped in outrage. "It is not about barf!" She nearly screeched.

"What is it about then, promoting bulimia?"

"It stands for," Hermione huffed, "the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

Now Draco looked shocked. "You've got to be joking."

"And why would I be joking?"

"Do you honestly think that anyone gives a damn about house elves?"

At this, Hermione actually put a hand to her heart, looking offended out of her mind, before shouting with emotion "YES!"

Draco smirked. "You are, quite clearly, insane."

Hermione gave a loud huff, then turned to face Salvanna, deciding to ignore Malfoy. Salvanna, however, had different plans- she had been stealthily crawling to the door and was nearly there. "Oh no you DON'T, missy!" Hermione shouted, and waving her wand, accioed her back to the other end of the room. She landed ungracefully on the couch and glared maliciously at the Head Girl. Draco, who had seemed to forget the initial reason of their argument, now started. "You still haven't explained why you are torturing innocent passerby." He stated, smirking. Hermione turned to him, literally seething with rage. "First off," she said, with a deadly tone that would've scared the majority of the human population, "I am not torturing her. Second, I need her to help me plan out S.P.E.W. because it is clear to me that, well," she was loathe to admit the truth about her abysmal business skills, "my campaign needs help with its business strategies. I had to use… other means to get her to talk to me because her entire house seems to be under the impression that I want to brutally disembowel them all."

"Well I can see why, considering your current actions." He continued before she could launch herself into a tantrum. "Why the hell are you using her to manipulate people? She's got about as many brains as a lump of wood!"

"Isn't that a bit hypocritical?" Hermione smirked. Draco ignored her. "Was there any semblance of reason in that insane head of yours to pick her of all people for such a job?"

"Well," Hermione considered, seeming a bit crestfallen at Draco's criticisms, "there was no one else. And really, she was quite skilled when she seduced John Gorge the other day, I thought he was going to explode with all of her bending over and banana eating."

"Everyone can seduce a guy with a banana."

"Really?" Hermione looked genuinely interested. "How?"

"Do we really have to go into this?"

"Fine." Hermione pouted. Resolving to go research banana seduction tricks in the library later, she turned back to Salvanna. Surprisingly enough, she looked rather disgruntled. "Now," Hermione began, "The long term aims of S.P.E.W. are to-"

"I'll do it." Came a voice from behind them.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, beyond irritated, "do you insist on interrupting every conversation that doesn't include you?"

"I said," he patiently repeated, "that I'll do it."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I'll help you with your barf club, obviously! Dear lord, you really are scatterbrained."

"It's S.P.- wait, what? Why?" Hermione looked confused beyond belief.

"Why not?" he shrugged.

"Well," Hermione started, rolling her eyes, "you hate me, muggleborns, Gryffindors, and house elves."

Draco looked slightly abashed. "Yes, well, there is that… but I'll still do it."

"Don't insult my intelligence. I know that you have an ulterior motive."

"Well it's a bit obvious, isn't it?"

"… No."

"You really do need business help, don't you?"

"I do NOT!"

Draco laughed. "Fine then. As everyone knows, the Malfoy name is quite clearly in shambles. If I ever want to be respected at all, or even get a decent job, I'm going to have to redeem the name of Malfoy. Clearly, becoming a leader of a house elf liberation movement alongside of a muggleborn would do the trick."

"But… we hate each other."

"So?"

He did have a point, Hermione conceded, and she had to admit that he would be perfect for the job. He was probably the most manipulative person that she knew. And quite honestly, they were quite mature enough to get over their childhood disagreements. Right?

* * *

Wrong.

"Granger, you will get nowhere with a name like spew. It needs to be changed." Said Draco said in a tone that suggested that his patience was running very thin.

"But I already created the badges!" Cried Hermione, trying to hold on to the last semblance of authority that she could.

"They're going to go to waste! Granger, when people see those badges they think of disgusting yellow liquids with bits of multicolored chunks floating around in them!"

"… Did you have to be quite that descriptive?" She asked, a repulsed expression residing on her face.

"Well," Draco nearly shouted, "That's what people think of!"

"FINE!" Hermione actually did shout this time. "We'll change the damn badges! Jesus Christ, you're going to make me pay millions before this takes off."

"Did you just say Jesus Christ?"

"Fuck off."

* * *

"Alright. We've been sitting here for over an hour, we need to decide on a new name."

"Well if you weren't so stuck on disgusting bodily functions-"

"I don't see you contributing!"

It was nearly 11 o'clock at night, and the two heads were sitting in their common room- Hermione, on the couch, Draco, slumped against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him. Hermione was seriously contemplating her decision to have Malfoy as her assistant. They hadn't gotten anything done.

Malfoy, who had been staring, brow furrowed, into the fire for quite some time, suddenly sprang to his feet. "I've got it!" he yelled, "House Elf Liberation League!"

"That spells hell." Hermione pointed out dryly.

"Precisely!" Beamed Draco.

"Don't you think that a big sign saying hell might give the wrong impression?" Said Hermione, barely containing her sarcasm.

"Wouldn't scare me off." Draco said, smiling.

"That is because you are a seriously messed up person who needs to see a psychiatrist." Hermione shot back wearily. "I think that might draw a crowd that would be rather averse to helping house elves, like say, I don't know, SLYTHERINS."

"I think that you're discriminating against my house."

"Oh shut up," she rubbed her temples distractedly, "hell, honestly, although…wait! What if it spelled help?"

Draco stared at her. "What's another word for league that starts with a p?"

"Well," Hermione began, "league, union, guild, where is a thesaurus when I need it? When did I stop carrying it around?"

"Probably when your bag split open in 3rd year." Draco commented, gnawing at the inside of his cheek.

"Oh yeah, you're right… wait, how did you know that?" Hermione asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"Simple, one day you came to class so weighed down on one side you looked like Quasimodo, the next you came in with a symmetrical bone structure."

"You've read Hugo? Muggle Hugo?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Yes, yes, fantastic writer, although he seems to have a fetish for architecture- we're getting off topic AGAIN." He began gnawing at his cheek again. "Honestly, I know there's a word for league that starts with p…"

Hermione scrunched up her face, clearly thinking quite hard. Then she sighed. "Oh, its no use…" and she scrambled to her feet, clearly intent on leaving the room.

Draco blinked. "Are we done then?" he called to the now empty space, but just as soon as he had slowly gotten to his feet she rushed back down the stairs, carrying a very large, very thick, very heavy book.

Panting, she sat back down. "The love of my life," she mused. "Now where is it… league…alliance… guild… party… party! House Elf Liberation Party!"

"Brilliant!" Malfoy looked like he could kiss her. "Thank GOD. H.E.L.P.! I love it. It's fantastic."

Hermione was jumping around the room, flailing her arms. "I know, I know!" She sang at a very high pitch. Draco was tempted to cover his ears.

"Come on, you freak," he chucked a badge at her, which hit her smack in the ear. He smirked at her shriek of fury. "We need to get these embellished."

Grumbling, she sat back down, and they both began working on the badges, engraving the word H.E.L.P. into their shiny surfaces.

* * *

Hermione was not entirely sure just why exactly Malfoy was being so damn nice. He was helping her with H.E.L.P (formerly S.P.E.W.) every weekend, taking time out of his own schedule to discuss, analyze, review, and put into action her ideas for the club. And while he was still being his smarmy, sarcastic self, he was doing so in a constructive way that completely benefited the meetings! His insults were all said in a teasing manner, he had not called her mudblood in years, and he seemed to –dare she suggest it- actually enjoy the discussions. What exactly was going on?

Draco wasn't entirely sure either. He had no idea what the hell had inspired him to agree to becoming her assistant. All he knew was that he simply couldn't let Granger rely on a complete idiot like that Salvanna Marriett. Honestly, what had she been thinking? But to his complete surprise, he found that the meetings with Granger weren't all that bad. He had thought that she would drone on and on about the purity and goodness of house elves, that he would have to bear her lectures on cruelty and basic rights. But instead, they engaged in intellectual conversation that actually made him question his own ideals. Jesus Christ, did he just think that? Question his own ideals?

He was turning into one of those fucking corny mushy guys who bought girls flowers and teddy bears on Valentines Day.

Good god.

* * *

Draco was sitting in the Head's common room at precisely 5:27 in the morning. He had been sitting there since 4:54, trying (and failing) to finish his transfiguration essay that was due that day. But he simply couldn't concentrate. His thoughts kept dwelling back to a very disturbing dream he had, one that he really couldn't remember quite properly. The images were so blurred and distorted. The first thing he could remember was that he had been down in the kitchens, trying to get a custard éclair. But the house elves were all gone, and had been replaced by dragons who were really trying to get his éclair to him but were having a lot of difficulty because their claws just weren't really capable of managing the house elf sized equipment. Finally, he had gotten so fed up with their inability to produce his éclair that he was going to just make the damn thing himself, when the dragon closest turned into Granger. And then suddenly they were rolling around on the kitchen floor, lips locked and hands all over the place, and it just felt so damn good when- Granger turned into McGonagall who promptly began to let out an earsplitting shriek. Draco had woken with a start, sweating and shaking. And then he had remembered his transfiguration essay.

He just couldn't understand it. None of it made any sense. He didn't even like custard éclairs! And why the fuck did he have a sort of not really but still THERE sex dream about Granger of all fucking people!? After all, he wasn't attracted to her. He had never really thought of her as, well, as a girl. He supposed that at times her femininity had displayed itself and he had been forced to acknowledge it, like the Yule Ball, but he always managed to easily push these memories to the back of his head and never think about them again.

He just couldn't be attracted to Granger. It was… physically impossible. Their hormones simply didn't fit together. It couldn't happen. Shaking his head, he stared down at his half filled transfiguration essay, eyebrows knit together. Yeat's Third Law of Transfiguration… it was pointless. He couldn't concentrate. Maybe if he had some breakfast?

He was interrupted from his musings by the patter of feet. Turning around, he spotted a still sleep-laden Granger descending the staircase, her curls bouncing wearily, as if they really weren't in the mood to be up yet. As she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, Draco couldn't help noticing how her hair, usually pulled back, framed her face. She had clearly just woken, as she was still wearing a pair of worn boxers and a white tank top. Her hazel eyes blinked up at him and she smiled sleepily, muttering a tired "Hey," before padding into their small kitchenette to make some tea.

For some odd, odd reason, Granger was looking rather pretty.

She reached up to get a mug, and her shirt rode up to reveal creamy, soft skin.

Scratch that. Granger was looking _hot_.

Draco blinked once.

Then twice.

And then he fled.

* * *


	3. Oh Dear

It was the morning of a cold, wintry day, and Hermione simply could not find Draco Malfoy. For three long days she had been trying to call a meeting, and for three long days she had failed. He had come to classes late on Friday, slouching down in what was apparently a very sullen mood. Then, as soon as the bell had rung he had grabbed his unopened bag, flung it over his hunched shoulder, and fled the room. Hermione had started to follow his retreating figure, but then had rethought the matter. It was rather obvious that he wasn't in the best of moods, she should really just leave him alone for today.

When he hadn't shown up for breakfast, lunch, or dinner on Saturday, she hadn't been quite as lenient.

Hadn't they decided that they would have another meeting for H.E.L.P. Saturday afternoon? It was mandatory- they were going to be discussing the group aims and how to advertise to the public! Had he just randomly decided that his spontaneous decision to join the association was a mistake? Surely he would have said something… and he had been acting so nice lately.

Sighing in disappointment, Hermione decided to traverse to the Gryffindor common room to converse with her two best friends, plus Ginny. Entering the warm room, she made her way over to two figures playing chess. They looked up in wonder as she approached, broad smiles forming across their faces. "Hermione! We haven't seen you in forever!" Harry proclaimed. Hermione felt a sense of dismay. When was the last time she had talked to Harry and Ron? Sure, she sat with them at meals, but most the time she was distracted with all of her to-do lists and planning. With all of her head duties, N.E.W.T. classes, and H.E.L.P., she had completely neglected her friends.

So she decided to do her homework in the Gryffindor common room that night.

However, when Sunday morning came around, Hermione was fed up with Draco Malfoy. She needed to talk to him, not just about H.E.L.P., but about Heads duties too! They were supposed to patrol tomorrow but if she couldn't find him how would that be possible?

In an angry huff, she decided to do the unthinkable- and instead of turning right at the top of the staircase, turned left. Her steps grew more and more hesitant as she approached the mahogany door of Malfoy's room, until her angry strides turned into tip-toeing. She was crossing into unknown territory, Malfoy's territory. It was terrifying.

The door grew closer and closer, until finally, she was right in front of it. Slowly, she raised her hand and knocked twice, rather timidly. Getting no response, she knocked a bit harder, and then finally a hard rap, saying, "Malfoy! Are you there?"

There was no response.

Suddenly a horrifying thought came into her mind- what if he was hurt? Perhaps he had been sick and stayed in his room and couldn't move any longer? What if he had some deadly disease and she had been the only one to notice his absence- he could be dead!

Eyes widening in horror, Hermione's anger completely dissipated. She had to check, to make sure… she slowly pushed open the door, almost afraid for what she was about to see…

It was empty.

Typical.

* * *

Draco was not, in fact, dead. Nor was he unconscious, mute, deaf, or otherwise constricted. His only problem was that he was suffering from a very bad case of denial.

He couldn't have thought that Granger was attractive. It couldn't be. She wasn't! She was an ugly old hag! Where were these thoughts coming from? What was wrong with him?

He brooded in his room all through Saturday and Sunday, only leaving in the dead of night to get food from the kitchens so as to avoid Granger. He just simply couldn't face her, he didn't know what he would do- clearly, he was losing his mind, what if he completely lost his senses and did something beyond his control? He might, might attack her or something… His thoughts were interrupted by a very vivid image of Granger, her hair loose and flowing, her lids heavy and dark as he leaned into her full, pink lips…

NO!

This was madness. He had officially gone round the bend. Maybe he should check into St. Mungos, they'd know what to do.

His thoughts were interrupted by a light tap on the door.

Instantly, his whole body froze, his mind whirring. Granger! What was she doing? Was she trying to get herself killed?

There was another tap, this time with more confidence.

What was he to do? What if she came in? She couldn't see him like this, he couldn't face her, he'd go crazy… his eyes wandered around the room, coming to rest on his Nimbus 2001…

He flew out of the window just as Hermione opened the door.

* * *

Draco decided to settle down in a secluded corner of the library with Dante's Inferno. He was desiring some gory revenge at the moment, and so skipped to Canto 28- Sowers of Discord. He was really getting into the genius of Dante's grotesqueness when the sound of light footsteps reached his ears.

Oh dear.

He contemplated this for a moment. He rarely ever heard footsteps in this corner of his; it was so remote- no one ever came back here.

Then why were the sound of footsteps getting louder?

He was trapped. There was no way out except the way he had come- towards the footsteps, and he wasn't entirely sure he was allowed back here in the first place. First off, it was past curfew, and second, it was a very remote corner.

If it was Filch, he was screwed…

Not even thinking about his actions, he leapt onto the nearest bookshelf and clambered onto the top of it. It was so tall that he was completely hidden in the shadows, and had to squeeze in between the ceiling and the top by lying completely flat. Holding his breath, he waited for the imposter to come into view…

And of course, it was Granger.

Fuck.

The fates were, quite clearly, against him.

He watched as she sighed, wearily dropping her bag onto the floor and slouching down into one of the chairs. Her hands found the clasp of her bag and he couldn't help but notice how the dim candlelight simply accentuated her features, how her hair seemed to ripple with light, how soft it looked, he just wanted to run his hands through that hair and rip off those baggy robes she was wearing until- stop it! He screamed at his mind. Shut up! But the mind really doesn't ever shut up when its told to, and forbidden images kept on playing despite his protests. He shut his eyes tight but her features burned inside his head, he quickly opened them and saw the real thing, hastily averted them so that he was looking at the other side of the library. Think of anything else, Draco, he thought, think of something sad, like dead kittens… Luckily, he found something to distract himself on the other side of the library- although on second thought, it was very, very unlucky.

Filch was making his way purposefully towards the back of the library. Right towards Hermione.

* * *

Hermione was rather enjoying her book on eggshell pigeons. They were a rather interesting species, after all, before being exterminated by humans they had fought for dominance over the Earth and had almost succeeded in overcoming humans with their exploding eggs. In fact, they had given humans the ideas of bombs! She had just reached the chapter about their intelligence when she heard a very odd noise. It sounded like… a cat. In fact, she thought as she slowly shut her book, there it was again- a meow that sounded exactly like Mrs. Norris. And… oh dear, but that was Filch's voice, was it not? Headed towards her section? It was past curfew! What was she to do? There was no escape route back here!

"Granger!" She jumped and emitted a squeak of shock. A voice had just said her name! Looking around warily, she slowly backed up until… her foot found her bag and she fell hard onto the floor. But as she looked up she saw… was that Draco Malfoy's head protruding from the top of the stack of shelves?

"Granger!" He hissed again, sounding pained. "What are you doing? Get up here, Filch is coming!"

"What the hell are you doing?" whispered back Hermione, completely dumbfounded.

"Does it fucking matter?" He replied, growing more and more agitated. "Get the fuck up here!"

Seeing that that seemed the best option, Hermione made her way over to the bookshelf and placed one unsteady foot on the lowest shelf. It trembled dangerously. Throwing caution to the winds, she hoisted herself up onto the next shelf, trying not to fall. Her hand found the top, and Draco grabbed it, pulling her onto the narrow ledge.

"What the hell were you doing?" Hermione hissed as her legs tried to find room in the limited space. "And where have you been? Have you been hiding up here this whole time, spying on people or something?" Half of her body was still hanging off of the ledge, and her hands grabbed the wood, trying to hold on. She was making an awful lot of racket. Draco could hear Filch coming closer, and closer… "Honestly, Malfoy, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Granger's casual use of the word fuck brought Draco to his senses... and severely turned him on. "Shut up," he murmured, and then grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into his body so that she wouldn't fall off the shelf, just as Filch came around the corner.

They both froze, barely daring to breathe, but even through Draco's fear of getting caught he couldn't help but notice how close his face was to her hair. It smelled like… well, whatever it was, it was intoxicating. His hand burned into the delicate curve of her waist, he could feel the heat emanating from underneath her thin, cotton shirt. It took every ounce of his will power to not run his hand down from her waist to her hip and then to her thigh… how had he never noticed how fantastic of a body she had? She shifted her hips slightly and he had to suppress a groan. How badly he just wanted to flip her over and tear that stupid shirt from her body, to cup her breasts with his hands, to slide that skirt down her legs…

He really, really hoped that she couldn't notice his massive hard on.

Hermione, unbeknownst to Draco, wasn't faring much better.

She had always known that Draco was a rather attractive person, but she had never considered that that meant that he was an actual male. All of their meetings had been completely cordial, never sexual, but now…

She was pressed up against his firm chest and she couldn't help noticing how possessive his arm felt, wrapped around her waist. Of course he had only done so because she was falling and he clearly felt no interest at all towards her but at the moment she was feeling rather light headed. How could this be? She had never really been attracted to a guy before, sure she had had some small crushes, but she had never felt this before. This was completely different. Her body was taut as a bowstring and even if she had tried to relax she couldn't. His body was just so warm, his hand so large, resting on the curve of her waist, she was having trouble thinking…

And then Filch was gone. Distantly, they both heard the sound of the library doors closing as he exited the large room, and they both breathed a sigh- of relief, regret, they weren't entirely sure. Sliding down from the bookcase, Draco gulped in a huge sense of air, trying to rid his head of her scent. But as she delicately stepped down too, her hands lost purchase and she began to wobble backwards. Scrabbling at the wood, she tried to find a handhold, but Draco, without even thinking, reached out and placed both hands on her waist to steady her. A flood of sensations hit both of them all at once- Draco couldn't stand it, the feel of her under his hands, he just wanted to pin her against the bookshelf and-

She stepped down onto the floor, and he quickly let go- though not without regret. Immediately he felt a surge of embarrassment. "I, uh," he started, trying to talk normally, "Sorry, I was just making sure you didn't fall…" he hoped that the light was dim enough so she couldn't see the pink patches that he knew were clearly visible on his cheeks. She turned around, smiled rather hesitantly, muttered a quick thanks, and fled the area.

Draco stood there, trying to clear his head, before leaving the library too.


	4. Slytherins

It was 3:00 AM and Hermione was still lying in her bed, wide awake. She hadn't been able to get a decent night's sleep for the past week, ever since that library incident… and she had potions the next day! How was she supposed to get through that with little more than 3 hours of sleep? Especially as lately Snape seemed to be undergoing a very bad case of menopause… Even though he was male… hmm…

The truth was, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about Malfoy. It was ridiculous, idiotic, that she should even begin to imagine that that little scene in the library had been as attractive to him as it had to her… because why would Malfoy be interested in her? Malfoy was one of those guys that all of the girls admired and yet never even dreamed of… admired because, Hermione had to admit, he was ridiculously attractive, and yet no one even attempted to get him. He was famous for his unavailability. As far as Hermione knew, he had never engaged in any sort of relationship with anyone at Hogwarts… although then again, she wasn't exactly part of a vindictive gossiping club. The rumors were boundless; of course, Parvati Patil stated knowingly that he was obviously a sex god who just kept his liaisons to himself, while Pansy Parkinson (who everyone knew had been pining after him for years), bitterly declared that he was a huge prude and would never get laid. However, Seamus Finnigan, in a drunken stupor, had (in a rather hopeful tone of voice) told the whole common room that Malfoy was, quite clearly, gay.

The fact of the matter was, that Malfoy had never shown that much interest in anyone of the male or female sex. He had seemed, up until 5th year, to enjoy bullying much more than sexual activities. During 6th year everyone was more involved with the war at hand to be distracted with such frivolous things like crushes, and 7th year… well, it had barely started. Hermione had always just assumed that he, like her, was more interested in his studies this year. After all, it was a very important one, what with N.E.W.T.S. and all. But now… she just couldn't get the feeling of his damn hand wrapped around her waist out of her head! She had never felt anything like that, anything so… protective, not even with Krum, who had an ego the size of Antarctica. And of course, she just had to pick Draco Malfoy, of all people, to get that feeling from! Draco Malfoy! Sweet merlin. She was, quite literally, going insane.

And she just knew, was almost 100 percent positive, that he felt no attraction towards her whatsoever. If he had, well then, he wouldn't be so actively ignoring her, now would he? For the past week he hadn't even deigned to look at her, not even once. He was acting completely normal, doing nothing out of the ordinary, and it was quite clear to her that he had felt absolutely nothing while they lay, squished together on top of a bookcase, with his arms wrapped around her and her body molded into his…

Wincing, she mentally berated herself. She knew better than to think about it. Again. This whole affair was leaving her quite distracted. Yesterday she had gotten 9 out of 10 on her Defense Against the Dark Arts homework simply because she had said that Knaws eat iron, instead of wood… what had she been thinking? Her mind had simply wandered and she wrote down the wrong word, and then foolishly (again, where was her mind) didn't recheck her homework assignment… she always checked her homework at least twice before turning it in! Yesterday she had only gotten 2 hours of sleep because she had woken up from a very, well, vivid dream (really, she didn't know where her imagination got it from) and then couldn't fall asleep again until 5 in the morning. It hadn't helped that when she woke up, her body was aching, but not just from exhaustion…

She looked at the clock. It was already 4. Sighing, she closed her eyes tightly, willing her mind to slip into unconsciousness. The problem was, she wasn't performing up to her usual standard. She needed to be stricter with herself, needed to stop daydreaming in the middle of classes. She needed to set a tighter schedule, get done with all of her responsibilities. And she needed, she thought, wincing even more, to have another H.E.L.P. meeting. She had meant to have one last week, and she hadn't, and now they were ridiculously behind. And really, her fears were completely irrational. He couldn't possibly know how she had responded to him that night, and she couldn't go on avoiding him forever- they were Heads after all. Tomorrow, she would go talk to him and arrange a meeting. And then she would finish her History of Magic essay.

Finally having resolved this, Hermione drifted back off to sleep.

* * *

Draco, unknown to Hermione, was not faring much better. In fact, one might even say that he was faring much worse. It seemed that he couldn't stop looking at her. Every class they had together was utter torture. Luckily, she always sat in the front row so she never seemed to notice his blatant staring, but that also meant that she was always in his line of vision. Every time he saw her he was reminded of how she had felt against him, and his thoughts always took a rather inappropriate twist. Yesterday it had been so bad that he had gotten a hard on in the middle of transfiguration! It was ridiculous how easily his body responded to her… His thoughts immediately shuddered to a halt when she walked into Potions. Her hair, uncharacteristically down today, glowed with the light from the torches and her large, hazel eyes seemed to shimmer. He waited for her to walk towards her regular seat but for some reason she was walking the opposite direction… in fact, she seemed to be walking right towards him! His eyes widened infinitesimally as her own pair locked with his. She seemed to be trying to scorch him with her stare, and good lord was it working. Although probably not in the way she imagined it would…

She came to stand directly in front of his desk. "Malfoy," she stated curtly, "We need to discuss H.E.L.P. Does tonight, around 8 work for you?"

"I, uh," he cleared his throat nervously. He couldn't think straight. "Uh, yeah, sure that works."

She smiled at him. Draco nearly fell off his chair. "Okay! I'll see you then." And she turned away, walking swiftly up to her own seat to await the lesson.

* * *

Hermione had sat down, feeling rather pleased with herself, when she noticed Harry and Ron. They were both staring at her, mouths slightly agape. "What?" She questioned, though she thought she knew what their problem was. She had never actually told them about Draco being her assistant…

"What were you talking to that slimy git for?" Ron asked, rather brusquely.

Hermione sighed. "Haven't you two gotten over that yet? Be quiet," she countered as Ron opened his mouth angrily to speak, "I was discussing the next meeting time with him for H.E.L.P., as you two don't seem to be interested in joining." As she said this, she realized that she still called him Malfoy. In fact, she still referred to him in her head as Malfoy. For some reason, this bothered her.

Having already been badgered with the badges, the two knew what she was talking about. "You got Malfoy to join spew?" Ron asked, astonished. "What did you have to do, Imperius him?"

Hermione glared at him, but had no chance to retort as Snape chose that moment to start the lesson.

Typical.

* * *

The Heads common room was a rather cozy type of room. A warm, crackling fire illuminated two inviting, plump couches, which were situated around a large, elegant mahogany table. All in all, the two heads had been very pleased with its atmosphere.

Until now. Draco, sitting in the couch opposite Hermione, couldn't have thought of a worse place to have their meeting. The fire reminded him of sex, the couches reminded him of sex, and the elegant mahogany table reminded him… of ridiculously attractive sex. How could he have not noticed before how damn sensual the room was? It practically screamed cozy cottage in the middle of cozy nowhere where you have cozy sex and drink cozy hot chocolate.

Honestly.

His thoughts were rather abruptly interrupted by Granger (who he had been attempting to not look at- the attempt had failed). He had barely been listening to her monologue, but now that some of the words had registered he felt a growing apprehension. "Say that again, slower," he instructed, and she huffed in impatience. He couldn't help noticing how her chest rose and fell with just that single moment, and forced himself to look away.

"The short term aims," she started again, with exaggerated slowness, "are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Did you get all that?" She asked scathingly, her face conforming into a derisive mask.

Draco found her expression unbearably sexy.

He attempted to clear his head and ran over her words in his mind. Was she crazy? Did she really think that such radical measures would ever be accepted?

He cleared his throat. "Um, Granger…" he began slowly, "that's not going to work."

She furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"Because people don't function like that. You might," he answered to her stormy expression, "but the majority of the human population are purely selfish and lazy, and wizards are not excluded. No, really," he said as he saw that she was about to protest, "I'm shocked that you haven't figured that out yet. What with the war and everything…" he sighed, trying to figure out a way to explain what he was trying to say. "Look. You were muggleborn and so you weren't exposed to house elves until you had already built a set of morals. Add that to the fact that you're already so morally conscious, and you were outraged. That kind of a combination happens to very, very few people. People born into the wizarding world have seen house elves and have gotten used to their ill treatment. They have learned to swallow the line that house elves like it like that because it has been fed to them since the day the were born. And the majority of muggleborns are so shocked and amazed by the wizarding world that they go along with the way house elves are treated, simply because they think that if someone else hasn't questioned it then surely its ok." Draco glanced at Hermione. Her expression was impassive, but she wasn't glaring, which was a comfort. "Now there are some who feel uncomfortable about house elves, but not that uncomfortable that they would do anything about it. It's these people we want to recruit. Once they see that there is some sort of organization that is standing up to the laws than they will become more interested. However, pureblood wizards rule this society. Don't give me that look, you know it's true. And the majority of pureblood wizards like house elves just where they are. If the organization gets big enough, they might be okay with giving it some thought, but not if the goals are so ridiculously radical. Fair wages and working conditions we can work with, but we need to make it sound like not that big of a deal. That should be our long term goal- a very, very flexible long term goal. Don't glare at me! Remember, this is just what we're telling the public. The only way to achieve our ends is by underhandedness, gaining a position in society, a respected position, and slowly working in our ideas in such a way that no one realizes what we are doing. Which is why changing the law about non-wand use and trying to represent an elf should definitely not be mentioned. In fact, I would be shocked if you managed to accomplish that in your lifetime. Now, I'm not saying that it's not possible," he said, trying to placate the stormy expression on her face, "but it will definitely take a lot of time."

She sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingers. "Well, what do you suppose our public aims should be?" She asked.

He considered for a bit, then said, "Securing house elves fair working conditions should be our immediate goals. I think that most wizards will be able to handle that, and a lot will support it. We should basically make it seem like we want to focus on making sure that house elves are all treated well, that they're not being tortured unnecessarily."

She raised an eyebrow. "Unnecessarily?"

"This is media, remember? We're trying to keep people in their comfort zone. Then we can rope them in and up the ante."

She frowned. "That's very… Slytherin of us."

He grinned. "I know."

* * *

A little bit later, and Draco was starting to get more comfortable. What with all of this talking his thoughts had been diverted from… other… things, and he was back on familiar ground. Underhanded plans and manipulation were his forte.

Hermione, on the other hand, was getting more and more uncomfortable. This was one of the things that she wasn't good at, and it was making her feel unhelpful and idiotic, things that she usually did not feel. Of course, it didn't help that every time Malfoy moved his forearms flexed, and that his hair looked particularly soft in the firelight. Or that his mouth looked rather inviting…

All in all, her concentration was not at its best.

"All right" Malfoy said, sighing. "We need to figure out how we're going to get some money. Your 2 sickles a badge thing isn't going to work, people don't even like badges. In fact, why do we have badges? No one wants to wear a badge…" At her towering look he quickly changed the subject. "The point is, is that we need a large fundraising event. As we are currently catering to teenagers it needs to be something mundane, something that will attract them… like a dance."

Hermione smirked. "What are you, a 5th year girl who paints her nails pink and goes around putting on lip gloss every 5 minutes?"

Draco laughed. Hermione reveled in the sound, it was one of the few times that she remembered that he had ever done so. "No," he replied, "But we are catering to 5th year girls with superficiality issues. Most girls will want to go to a dance. They'll want to be able to dress up and go on a cute date with their latest crush of the week. I don't like the idea either, but it will bring money- people will pay to get in, and the girls will drag even the unenthusiastic guys. They wont care who's hosting the dance, just as long as they get to go. And the goal right now is not to get members, but to raise money, simply because money is respected."

"But won't we have to hire a band, or something? Won't that take a lot of money?"

Draco frowned. "Yeah, but do we have to hire a band? I'm pretty sure that people will be fine with a DJ, and we could probably even get a student to do it… I'm sure we could find someone who's very… musically oriented. We probably won't even have to pay them, and if we do it won't be very much."

"True. Well, I suppose that it is a good idea…" Hermione grudgingly admitted. "We'll have to get permission from Dumbledore to use the Great Hall, I don't think he would mind though. Anyways, it would be a good bonding experience, especially after the war…" Hermione bit her lip, thinking hard. Draco, whose mind had almost been completely diverted from all thoughts of her sexuality, immediately zeroed in on her mouth. Her lip slowly slid out from beneath her teeth, and he nearly died. God, he just wanted to suck on that lip, to nibble at it, bite it…

She sighed, her eyes fluttering close, and stretched. Dracos eyes widened as he watched her arms reach up above her head, causing her shirt to inch up just a bit and her breasts to become that much more prominent in her demure button up shirt…

She licked her lips. He had to bite back a moan.

"Well," she said in a lazy, sleepy tone of voice that made Draco want to rip all of her clothes off, "we'll figure out the basics later. We should probably go to sleep, it's late…"

"Yeah," said Draco eagerly. He really needed to get out of there, before he did something stupid. "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow…" and resisting the urge to hug her, or ruffle her hair, or just fucking touch her, he got up and left the room.


	5. The Joys of Bananas

"I'm rethinking this idea of a dance," said Draco, plopping down on one of the common rooms armchairs.

Hermione blinked. Was the great Draco Malfoy talking to her again? So his highness had deigned to consort with the lower classes, had he? For Malfoy had been, yet again, avoiding her. She was starting to think that it was his little hobby, to avoid people. What had it been, 2, 3 times now? And each time he had started, she had been so happy, certain that he was being nicer to her. After their talk about H.E.L.P. she had been so excited, they had actually worked like a team, discussed things, gotten things done- in short, behaved like mature adults who enjoyed each others presence. And then he had the gall to just get up and disappear for a whole fucking two weeks! Had she talked to him once, in that long wait? No. Had he even shared a glance with her? No. And now he had decided that he was going to be nice to her?

Well, she didn't fucking think so.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Hermione answered in a clipped tone that dripped hostility.

Draco looked surprised at her apparent show of aggression. Huh. Shows the bastard right.

"I just… wanted to talk about the dance…"

"And what about it?"

"Are you okay?" asked Draco, and quite a lot of concern laced itself into those words.

Hermione wanted to boil his head off. Why did he have to act so damn nice all the time?

She leaned her head back. No. No. Her resolve would not shatter. But his concerned expression only deepened, and she felt her anger slip away.

Why was she angry again?

…She hated that he could do this to her.

"Hermione?"

Hermione's head snapped up. "Did you just… just… call me Hermione?"

For a moment Draco looked shocked at his own words. He quickly recovered, however, and schooled his expression into one of his patented smirks. "Well, considering that we are business partners, don't you think we should call each other by our first names? It would be very unprofessional not to."

Hermione was so confused. This boy clearly had mental problems. Nice, mean, nice, mean, and now he was even verging on the point of flirtation!

No, she really couldn't let herself think that…

"Fine, _Draco_." And she smirked a smirk to rival Draco's own.

Malfoy could barely suppress a shiver as she spoke his name. When she said it… it rolled off of her tongue like pure sex. And that smirk… Jesus...

Rather rapidly standing up, he swiftly moved over to their small kitchen on the pretext of getting water. He chugged a whole glass, trying to mentally prepare himself, before turning back around and making his way over to her.

She was reading her book again.

As he turned to face her, she lifted her head up and said, in a deceptively innocent voice, "Did you have something to talk about, Draco?"

Christ. He needed more water.

* * *

Hermione really was quite good at reading people. She didn't have aspergers, she knew what sex was, and she definitely knew what attraction felt like.

So why everyone assumed that she was completely oblivious to the male species was a mystery to her.

Was she not best friends with two of them? Did she not repeatedly ignore Ron's advances? Had she not dated Victor Krum?

She might not have been an expert with males, but she knew when someone was uncomfortable around her- and Malfoy was definitely uncomfortable.

She didn't know how it happened, but for right now, she seemed to have some sort of inexorable power over Malfoy- or Draco, as she should say.

She smirked.

Malfoy, who was seated across from her, cleared his throat loudly and rose, for the third time, to get some more water.

Damn, this was fun.

She was under no delusions about whether he liked her or not. If he liked her, he wouldn't have so avidly avoided her, wouldn't have not taken advantage of that library incident. But for right now, at this moment, he seemed to be rather attracted to her. She was fairly certain that it would pass soon. She was also relatively sure that the source of his predicament was coming from the fact that she had completely failed to notice that the top two buttons of her blouse were undone.

Really, she should buy some more mirrors.

Her gaze flickered to his face. He was looking anywhere but at her, and babbling something about a DJ costing too much and whatnot.

Testing her new found theory, Hermione sighed, reclining from her sitting position on the couch to her side. As she slid down the couch her skirt rode up just enough…

Draco stopped mid sentence and swallowed loudly.

Ah, revenge was sweet.

* * *

Ginny Weasley sat on the Gryffindor side of the Great Hall, and quietly contemplated the masses while she delicately sipped at her oatmeal. Her eyes scanned over the Hufflepuff table (who were all sleeping), passed the Ravenclaws (who were studying), and came to rest on the Slytherins. She paused on Blaise Zabini, who, she noted, was looking particularly delicious today. Then she turned to the blond sitting next to him, who seemed to be staring, transfixed at something. It was rather amusing actually; his mouth was gaping open, tongue slightly lolling out, his eyes were widened so that he looked a tad bit like a bug, and his spoon, which he held motionless inches from his mouth, appeared to be steadily dripping milk onto the table. Ginny turned to see what he was looking at and saw, in his direct line of vision, Hermione, who was rather enthusiastically enjoying a banana.

Ginny frowned in thought. "Is Malfoy staring at Hermione?" she perused to an oblivious Ron.

Ron's fork fell to the table in a clatter. "WHAT?" he shouted as he tried to jump up in astonishment. Sadly, this feat failed, as his knees hit the back of the bench and he fell over onto the floor with a loud thump.

Ginny sighed. "Honestly, Ron," she admonished, "You are such an idiot."

* * *

"Draco?" Blaise asked to an apparently unconscious Malfoy. "Draco. DRACO." Draco sat up with a start, blinking furiously and spattering the remaining drops of milk left on his spoon onto his head.

"Huh? What?" He spluttered, trying to regain some of his composure.

Blaise smirked. "So…" he began, with the air of one who was about to drop an invisible rabid cat on someone's head, "Granger's looking particularly delectable today, isn't she?"

Draco blinked once. Then twice. And then… "Don't fucking touch her!" He shouted as he lunged towards Blaise, aiming for his throat.

Blaise laughed. How predictable.

* * *

The two Heads sat in Dumbledore's office and squirmed under his penetrating stare. He gazed at them for a moment, before folding his hands together to prop up his chin. "So what you are proposing," he said in a thoughtful voice, "is that you host a formal dinner and have all of the proceeds go towards this House Elf organization?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. Dumbledore looked at her. "Why not a dance?" he asked.

Draco quickly answered, "We realized that it would cost too much money to find a band or a DJ."

"Ah," Dumbledore said musingly. "But, why have just a formal dinner? Why don't you have something like a… slumber party afterwards?" At Hermione's and Draco's blank stares he added, in a ridiculously enthusiastic voice, "Everyone could bring their pajamas!"

Hermione and Draco glanced at each other. The headmaster had clearly gone mad. "Um, Sir," Draco tentatively began, "Don't you think that that might… get a bit out of hand?"

"Nonsense!" crowed Dumbledore. "It'll be fun!"

Good god.

* * *


	6. Absolute Nonsense

Someone had spiked the punch.

Hermione grimaced as the now harsh pumpkin juice slid down her throat. Whoever it had been was a complete idiot, she mused. Who would put vodka in pumpkin juice? Honestly, how obvious could these people get?

Tossing her cup into the garbage, she strode over to the bowl to replenish it with minor-friendly substances, but stopped in her tracks as she spotted a certain redhead stalking towards her. Ginny had been harassing her for days about well, certain subjects that she would rather not expound upon. Hastily pivoting around, she began to walk forward when she noticed that Blaise Zabini was also striding purposefully towards her. Well, this is odd, she thought, stopping in the middle of the hall and biting on her bottom lip. What could both of them want at the same time?

They both reached her simultaneously, neither noticing the other. Then their voices sounded out in almost perfect unison, in tones of soothing comfort, "don't worry about the punch, Hermione." They then looked at each other, confused. "How did you-" they both said, again in unison, then stopped and blushed. Hermione gaped at the pair of them. "You _both_ spiked the punch?" She asked incredulously. "Are you fucking idiots?" She hissed, then stormed off to… go sulk, apparently, as she conjured up one of the many sleeping bags lying around and sat on it in a huff.

Ginny smirked at Blaise. "So, you spiked it too?"

He nodded, returning her smirk. "What did you put in?" he asked in curiosity.

"Oh, you know the usual, vodka." she answered nonchalantly, pushing her hair out of her face.

Blaise's face adopted an extremely patronizing expression. "Oh, honestly Weasley," he admonished, "you're such an amateur." And he held up a clear, liquid filled bottle that said: Tasteless, Odorless Alcohol. Use with care.

Ginny's eyes widened as she stared at the bottle. Then she looked up at Blaise with an expression of envy and longing, and said, "I think I might just be in love with you, Zabini."

* * *

Hermione sat, her legs folded and her head against the wall, on one of the fluffy purple sleeping bags that Dumbledore had so amiably provided for them. All in all, the night had been a success, she reflected, but for some reason she was still depressed. She really shouldn't be, she knew. She had seen quite a few people picking up the fliers posted in copious amounts around the Great Hall and many seemed to be quite interested in the cause. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, no one had tried to leave or anything of the sort. So what was the matter with her?

Sighing, her head rolled off to one side as she surveyed the crowd. She was just… well.. she was really just… well, to be perfectly honest, she had been watching Malfoy all night and it had really left her in a… well… predicable situation, if you know what I mean.

And he hadn't looked at her the entire time. Not even once. That strange, random power that she had had over him had completely disappeared. He barely even acknowledged her anymore!

She let her head fall onto her knees with a groan. She just couldn't stand this! Why did she have to be so fucking obsessed with Malfoy…

Her ears perked as she heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, but it wasn't until she heard the distinctive sound of her name that she looked up, hair falling over her face. Malfoy stood in front of her, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. And was he… was he swaying?

Hermione quickly got to her feet, disbelief coursing through her. "Are you… Are you drunk?" She asked incredulously, taking a few scattered steps forward. He just stood there, staring at her, body slightly moving from side to side. She reached out a tentative hand and touched his shoulder, as if to shake him. "Draco?" She asked, worry now laced into her voice.

Malfoy gave a visible shudder and then… then he swayed into her, pushing her body up against the cold, stone wall. His hands found their way to her hips and caressed her skin through the denim, then traveled up her waist and just barely brushed the side of her breasts…

"God, Hermione," he mumbled, his lips against her neck as he nipped and pulled at the flesh, "I want you so fucking bad… You have no idea…"

And then his lips were on hers and dear god she had no idea how she was still standing because damn was he good at this. One of his hands reached up to tangle itself in her hair, tilting her head and deepening the kiss, his tongue probing into the dark recesses of her mouth. She could feel the entire length of his hard, muscular body and finally with a small moan wrapped her hands around his biceps, feeling the muscles tensing. His hips ground into hers and oh god she couldn't stop she really couldn't all she wanted was to rip all of his clothes off and have her way with him against the fucking wall…

"Mr. Malfoy… _Ms. Granger_! Stop this inappropriate behavior at once!"

Cruelly, brutally, Hermione tore her lips out of Malfoy's grasp. He stared at her, inches away from her face, his breathing harsh, before he dropped his head onto her shoulder.

"Fuck…" he moaned, then straightened, swaying slightly, to face the furiously red face of McGonagall.

Needless to say, it was not a pretty sight.

McGonagall, for once, seemed to be at a complete loss for words. She sputtered indignantly for a bit, staring at the two as if she couldn't believe her eyes, then finally managed to choke out the words, "What is the meaning of this… this… nonsense!?"

Draco stared at her for a second, seemingly trying to decipher the meaning of her incoherent sentence. Then he let out an extraordinarily loud guffaw of laughter. "This," he wheezed, "is a little thing called _attraction_. You should look it up sometime!"

And, still cackling with glee, he walked away.


	7. Finer Points of Developing a Sore Thoat

A/N: This story has been around for a few years, and so have I- consequentially it has become a lot dirtier. If that's not your cup of tea than I would suggest you shop in the K-T department.

Hermione was nothing if not an ambitious person. While she was often remarked upon for her intelligence, her kindness, and her unwavering faith in humanity, it was really her drive for success that placed her ahead of the others.

She was also, and this was something that was less known, an incredibly rational individual. She believed in problems and solutions, questions and answers. Pesky, immeasurable things like emotions had no place in her intellectual pursuits. Of course, being a logical, realistic person, she recognized that there were some factors in life that one simply cannot control. And to her conundrum, she found that she was now facing one of those very flukes in her well-oiled systematic routine.

She was hopelessly lusting after Malfoy.

Now being the methodical, organized individual that she was, she had come up with multiple solutions to this, uh, _problem_. Plan A involved avoiding him to the best of her abilities, and attempting to block all mental thought processes involving him in any sexual sense completely from her mind. Unfortunately, this plan backfired almost immediately when she found him emerging from the shower, half-naked, wet, and dripping, and couldn't think of anything other than hot, frenzied sex against the tiles of the shower wall. She had turned on her heel and practically ran to potions, but even the frigid air of the dungeons couldn't distract her train of thought. Needless to say, she found Snape's penetrating gaze to be even more uncomfortable than usual.

Plan B involved finding someone else to distract herself with. This was easier said than done- Hogwarts had mercilessly slim pickings. Spending the first day dreaming of Ron (until she remembered how terrible of a kisser he was- a bit like making out with a vacuum), the second of Ernie Mcmillen (this plan almost worked until she attempted to have a conversation with him, and realized his vocabulary consisted mainly of inarticulate grunts), and the third of Professor Snape (yes, he was smart, but the hygiene thing was really a turn off) made her realize that this plan was, perhaps, just as flawed as the first. What was worse, she found herself unconsciously comparing all of her potential suitors to Malfoy- and kept finding that they came up short! What was wrong with her?

But she was Hermione Granger, damn it! She had a solution to every problem and there was no way in hell that she was going to let something as simple as teenage hormones get in the way of her career plans- of her life's happiness! She was distracted, she was jittery, and she was so, so fucking horny. It needed to end.

Plan C, she decided, needed to commence. Immediately.

* * *

After The Incident (as Draco liked to refer to it in his head), otherwise known as The Debacle at the Dinner of perhaps The Drunken Debauchery of an Inexperienced, Sexually Deprived, Clearly Insane Young Man, Draco found that he was taking great lengths to avoid seeing Granger. When she walked out of her room, he ducked back into his; when he had classes with her, he sat in the front row (the front row!) to avoid having her in her line of sight; and once, just once, when she had walked into their common room he had thrown himself underneath the couch. There were still awkward confrontations (such as the time she caught him emerging from the shower- thank god she had turned on her heel and left, or else he would not have been responsible for his actions) but otherwise he would say that his strategy was working fairly well. It didn't stop the helpless fantasizing, of course, and the wet dreams were certainly inconvenient, but hey, life could be worse.

She had obviously made it quite obvious that she wanted nothing to do with him. Her active avoidance of him ever since that night had been painfully obvious. But like the strong, capable man that he was he rallied and refused to let himself get down over being rejected by someone as unimportant as Hermione Granger. He didn't care. Really. He didn't. And there was absolutely no wallowing going on whatsoever. He had most certainly not sat in the bathtub for three hours going every single conversation that they had ever had and wondering what he had done wrong. And he had most _definitely_ not waited in the common room for eight hours the day after the ball wondering if she would come out to talk to him. Because he didn't care if he was available if she ever felt the urge to discuss those events! He didn't even want to talk about them himself! Why, he wasn't even interested in her at all! Right? Right! Draco Malfoy was attached to no one, thank you very much, and he would damned well act as he pleased!

Needless to say, he was feeling rather depressed.

So it came as a surprise when, almost a week after The Extremely Hot but Incredibly Deranged Pawing of an Innocent Female there came a knock on his door, and Granger stepped into the room.

Draco was lying on his bed, casually reading his Herbology textbook (he'd actually been rereading the same sentence for the past thirty minutes, but who was counting really) when Hermione brazenly rapped at the door, and then, just as brazenly, entered without a response. He looked up to see her leaning casually on the door, her arms folded and a characteristic no-nonsense expression on her face. Draco stared at her with unconcealed surprise, his mouth slightly open and his book hanging loosely off of his hands.

"Draco", she said, and the use of his first name registered somewhere in his mind as a shiver ran down his back, "I've been thinking. We need to have sex."

_What_?

"W-what?" Draco stuttered in response. His brain could not seem to understand what was happening. All he could do was blink at her stupidly as she sighed exasperatedly and tilted her head condescendingly. "We. Need. To. Have. Sex." She replied, placing emphasis on each word. When he still continued to stare at her, open mouthed, she proceeded to elaborate. "I would say, considering your past behavior, that it's fairly obvious you're attracted to me, and unfortunately, given said past behavior, I've found that I may have reciprocal feelings. The obvious solution would be to simply get it out of the way before either of us blows this up into something it's not. Do you not agree?"

Draco still could not seem to comprehend what she was saying. "So…" he began, "You want to… have sex. With me. Sex. With… Me? You want to have sex with me?" He was acting like an ignorant school boy and he knew it but he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around what was happening! Hermione seemed to understand this, and so she casually rolled her eyes, casually nodded, and then casually (how was she acting so damn casual!) began to unbutton her shirt.

_She began to unbutton her shirt._

The sight of her red lacy bra finally snapped Draco out of his confusion, or perhaps it simply made his sexual instincts kick in, who knows really and who fucking _cares_ because he was sitting up and striding over to her and finally, _finally_, grabbing her still moving hands and pinning them above her head, and then he was staring down at her and he could tell that she was nervous, could tell by the way that her partially covered breasts were heaving with her breath and by the widening of her eyes, and he smirked down at her from his newfound position of power and slowly lowered his head, not quite touching her lips but almost there, his pulse racing as she gasped, and he murmured into her neck, "are you sure about this?"

With a frustrated noise she moaned "_yes"_ and she clenched her hands into his hair and pulled his head down so that their lips met; and he didn't know how it happened but her shirt was off and her legs were wrapped around his waist and she was grinding against him recklessly, and now he was pushing her towards the bed, and his hand was climbing up her skirt and she moaned wantonly and _Jesus_ she was so fucked wet already how was she so fucking wet? And he was so hard, so painfully hard that he wanted nothing more than to just pound into her right then and there- but no, he had to calm down, he had never been so worked up before in such a short amount of time, he had to make sure that it was _good_.

He slowed down his kisses and pulled his hips back a little, so that they weren't in direct contact with hers, and she moaned at the loss. She tried to pull him back by wrapping her legs around his waist again but he stopped her, his fingers tracing her inner thighs. "No," he murmured into her ear, "I want to make you come." She frowned up at him, regretting the loss of contact even while his fingers traced the edge of her underwear, so tantalizingly close- and she huffed in exasperation, "That's lovely, but can't you fuck me first?" He chuckled darkly in response, his fingers pushing aside her panties. "Oh Granger," he replied, "when I'm done with you your voice will be so hoarse from screaming my name that you won't be able to talk properly for _days_" and then his fingers plunged into her and she moaned so loudly that she was surprised she could even make such a noise, let alone so unconsciously, but then she wasn't even thinking about the noises she was making because he was pumping in and out of her and oh _god_ it never felt like this when she touched herself, never, how was he so fucking good at this? And she felt something build, and build, and when he pulled his fingers out and circle her clit it only took her 1,2,3 seconds before _fuck_ and her back was arching and her fingers were clawing at his back and she fucking _screamed_.

He smirked satisfactorily from his position above her, reveling in the way her face and chest were flushed and in the light sheen of perspiration covering her breasts, in the way her breath was still heaving and she couldn't seem to open her eyes. "Impressive, Granger," he purred, "but next time, try to form your lips around the word _Draco_, yeah?"

Her eyes snapped open and her mouth curved into a smile, a real, genuine, radiantly post orgasmic bliss sort of smile and she laughed before impressively flipping them both over and straddling him, this time fully determined to get what she wanted.

In the end, he was the one that ended up yelling her name.


End file.
